Afternoon Tea
by sunlitroses
Summary: A global network didn't slow down in its needs simply because its Head managed to catch a cold.


Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit none.

A/N: It seemed only fair that I should be mean to Helen a little bit, too, every now and then. Equal opportunity and all that. :)

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><p>Helen knew that she'd been in a bitter humor all day. She even knew the cause, but a global network didn't slow down in its needs simply because its Head managed to catch a bloody cold. Though, admittedly, she did feel bad about snapping at Will earlier.<p>

That being said, it in no way excused him loudly bustling into her office with a tea tray in the afternoon and proceeding to attempt to cajole her into joining him in the most annoying tones.

"Come on, Magnus, you cannot seriously be turning down _tea_. How ill are you, anyway?"

Apparently, she was hiding her cold less ably than she would prefer. Although, with Will, such endeavors were often futile in the first place due to his occasionally inconvenient abilities at perception.

"It's a simple cold. I hardly require coddling and you know how it irks me." Helen winced internally at her own tone, but really he'd been at this for ten minutes now. What would it take for him to get the hint?

In response, Will rounded her desk and leaned against the wood next to her. She stubbornly refused to look up at him for several minutes. When it became clear that he had resolved to turn into some form of desk-vulture, though, she gave in and directed a fierce look upwards.

"Is there something else you require?"

"Do you remember the lecture you gave me the last time I tried to work while ill?" Will plunged in without preamble, smiling down at her amiably, with no hint that her cold shoulder was affecting him in any way. Which was slightly irritating, truth to be told. "_I_ certainly remember it. I think I still have the scars."

"I have been alive for a considerably longer time, Will. Long enough to know my own limits, thank you for your concern," at least she'd worked in a 'thank you' this time, Helen thought virtuously.

"Long enough to get practiced at ignoring them, at least," before she could retort, Will moved on, "but that's not why I'm here. Look, I'm not asking that you hole up in your bed until this cold has worked its way out of your system. Though," he admitted, in an off-hand tone, "I think it would do you some good. All I'm asking now," he continued blithely, "is that you take a few minutes and have tea with me." He stopped for a minute and eyed her before continuing over her indrawn breath, "Is that such a horrible prospect? I promise it is tea and not," he paused for effect, "_coffee_." The mock shudder and wicked grin he leveled at her finally worked a small smile free. Helen knew then that he would win, but she wasn't sure that she wanted to give in gracefully.

"The Big Guy fixed the tea," he bribed mercilessly. "He seemed to believe it was something special." Will's voice faded off teasingly.

"Tea," Helen stated, "and then you'll let me get back to work? No more interruptions?"

"Scout's honor," he assured, holding up his hand with a bright smile.

"Hm," she said, summoning the energy to rise from her desk, "that would be more reassuring had you ever actually been a Boy Scout, Will."

"I always thought the 'be prepared' motto fit quite well into the Sanctuary," he said, straightening from his lean against the desk. "Even if it is somewhat unachievable," he extended an elbow in her direction and, before Helen could snap at him for treating her as though she were infirm, he made a slight bow. "If I might have the honor?"

Between the truly awful nasal accent and cheeky grin, Helen settled on looping her arm through his and letting him steady her as they made their way towards the tea service. "Monkey," she muttered under her breath.

"Only for you, m'lady," he intoned, sounding somewhat like a deflating tire in the breathless exuberance he put on.

Helen shared this thought as they sat on the sofa.

"I'm wounded," Will complained, dropping the accent as he reached for the tea pot, "Simply crushed."

"You shall be if you lay a hand on that tea pot," she remarked, batting his hand away, "I dread to think what you might do with it."

"What could I possibly do to it while pouring?" he asked, incredulous.

"I prefer not to contemplate the possibilities," she answered, primly, before taking up the pot and pouring two steaming cupful's. As the aroma misted up from the cups, Helen gave her old friend mental points at his percipience in choosing a blend that would soothe her aching throat and loosen up the band tightening around her chest. Also, was she fooling anyone in the building?

About to hand the saucer over to Will, she took in the resigned look on his face. Rolling her eyes, she set the cup back down and added simply obscene amounts of milk and sugar. Passing the tea over at last, she smirked at his much cheerier countenance. "That substance in no way resembles proper tea, Will. I can only handle watching you drink one cup of pure sugar, mind."

Sipping, he only waved in his hand in an impatient gesture: of course, of course. Smiling despite herself, Helen took a sip of _proper_ tea and tried to not sigh aloud as the warmth soothed her throat and steamed through her chest. When she opened the eyes that had mysteriously fallen shut over the course of the last few sips, it was to see Will watching her with a tender concern that he quickly disguised as she blinked over at him.

"I think I might be jealous of a cup of tea," he quipped with a lop-sided smile. "_I_ never rate that sort of smile." Reaching towards the tea tray, making blatant moves _around_ the tea pot, he retrieved a covered mug and set it down near her knee. "I'm curious if the broth does better than me as well. If I come in a dismal third, I think I'll be heartbroken," he finished in a long-suffering tone.

She wondered when he had developed a method of sneak-hovering over her and why she hadn't noticed before now.

"Since when is broth included in a tea service?" she asked archly instead. Helen wasn't sure who was worse: her old friend or Will.

"Since you began to sound like Humphrey Bogart, and don't," he interposed, bringing a hand up to ward off her next comment, "tell me how inaccurate that is when compared with how he really sounded on the day you met him on a sunny island and he fell for you head over heels. A man can only take so much, Magnus," he finished in a mock-solemn tone. The grin slipping out around the corners of his mouth spoiled the effect somewhat.

"For your information, I did not 'meet him on a sunny island', Will," she said, setting her tea down in exchange for the mug. He let out an overly dramatic sigh of relief. Then, because she never could resist teasing him, Helen hid her face behind the mug to conceal her smile and continued, "It was raining at the time."

His loud groan was equally dramatic. "Terrible. You are terrible."

She had to laugh at that, though only briefly as it tore at her throat and prompted a few coughs. Sipping at the broth to soothe them, she noticed Will's hand twitching towards her until it was abruptly redirected to fiddle with the edge of his tea cup. Poor man, she did make this so hard on him. Reaching out herself, Helen patted his knee, shaking her head when he looked up worriedly.

"It's only a cold, Will," she reassured him raspingly. Clearing her throat, she tried again, "Hardly serious enough to warrant that look."

"What look?" he protested, with a smile. "I've got no look going on over here. I'm the Expressionless Man."

Helen snorted, then coughed, "That look," she said, pointing at him accusingly. "It's setting my teeth on edge."

"Out of scientific curiosity, is that better or worse than making them itch?" He asked, feigning deep concern. "Either way, perhaps you should see a dentist."

"Drink your tea," she ordered, hiding the twitching in her lips behind her own cup.

Will grinned and lifted his cup to his lips before abruptly pulling back with a look of horror.

"What?" Helen croaked, alarmed enough to raise her voice louder than it could take at the moment.

"Maybe it's the tea," he uttered in tones of alarm – which she could now tell was as fake as his momentary horror. "Truly, Magnus," he said innocently when she leveled a glare at him, widening his own eyes, "Itching teeth sound unpleasant. I'm now concerned about the effects all that tea might have caused." Setting the cup down as though it might explode at any moment, he pasted a solemn look on his face and sighed. "You'll just have to switch to coffee, I'm afraid."

"Really, Will," she rolled her eyes, "I'm beginning to wonder if the sugar was laced. What has gotten into you?"

"Good company," he smiled broadly, prompting her to return the same. Then, with a glint in his eye that told her to beware, he added, "Or maybe it's the tea."

"That's it, I despair of your good taste," she said in resignation, before slipping into more serious tones. "Shouldn't you be eating? I daresay you skipped lunch."

"You wouldn't know," Will responded, raising an eyebrow, "Seeing as how you weren't there either. Kettle."

Helen ducked her head, acknowledging the gentle rebuke, "Yes, but I'm eating now." She raised the broth pointedly, then gestured to the tray with her chin, "So, Pot, I recommend the watercress."

Wrinkling his nose in a clear expression of distaste, he slid a triangle of chicken salad and a lemon cookie onto his saucer. "Better?"

"Hm," she decided to reserve opinion until he actually managed to worry them down and turned the subject to Declan's latest intake. Finishing the broth, she switched to the tea and privately admitted that the liquids were at least making her throat feel less like sandpaper. Muffling a yawn, she tuned back into Will's running commentary.

"Yes, she does need assistance, obviously, but the housing just isn't available. She should remain in a stable environment until we work out either a kill switch for her abilities or at least some basic safety precautions. She's not in any danger at the moment and, provided she's familiar with the environment, she doesn't seem to be a danger to others, either."

"It's an idea, provided a watch is maintained," Helen failed to stifle another yawn. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she opened them when Will tugged her tea cup away to set it on the table before reaching down and swinging her feet into his lap. Startled, she went with the motion.

"Will, what?" she trailed to a halt.

"I still have no idea how you run in these things," he mused, tilting her ankle for a better look at the four-inch stilettos she'd paired with her black trousers that morning. "Surely it defies some law of physics. Did Tesla set you up with something?" he asked suspiciously.

"Years of practice, Will," she replied absently, "Why the sudden need for a closer look at my footwear?"

In answer, Will slipped her left shoe off, pressing his thumbs into the arch of her foot before she could muster a protest. Which Helen meant to do, really, as this was clearly a preemptive strike on behalf of a much larger plot. His hands began moving slowly down her foot. Letting herself lean back into the arm of the sofa, she closed her eyes and gave up. Whatever he had planned, she'd deal with later. For right now, he just needed to not stop doing that thing with his palm to the ball of her foot.

By the time he had worked both feet over, Helen had melted into the sofa and pretty much decided to let him get away with whatever scheme he was plotting. After all, he wasn't likely to set her office on fire or turn the North Tower into a rave. How bad could it be?

When her feet were settled onto the cushions and Will began to move around, she tried to muster up the wherewithal to open her eyes once more. Well, maybe she would just wait until he had settled back down. That sounded logical.

A soft warmth covered her, which Helen eventually placed as the knitted throw that she kept near the fire. By the time that a pillow she recognized from the chair was tucked under her head, she managed to squint at the figure by her head.

"Will," she began hoarsely.

"Just sleep, Magnus," he said quietly, "I promise to keep the world from blowing up while you nap. I'll even sort your files," he tempted, before pausing. "Well, provided you promise to eat dinner."

"Humph," she muttered inarticulately, letting her body sink into the cushions, "Tyrant."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," he whispered cheerfully. It was the last thing she heard before succumbing to sleep.

Utter cheek, she thought contentedly.

I believe I'll hold off on revenge until after he's done my filing.


End file.
